


Confidante

by marimoes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Drunkenness, First Kiss, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23630245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: While travelling together some time after the fight, Nathaniel and Anders find themselves at a small coastal village. It has good beer, several stray cats, and truths that neither man may be ready for.
Relationships: Anders/Nathaniel Howe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Confidante

The night air has a chill about it that sits on Nathaniel’s neck like a scarf worn with holes. It’s also sticky, despite the temperature, and another reason to keep off the coast is scratched into his mind. Salt mixed with sand comes across him in a breeze and he stops, scratching a positive onto the other side of the list. 

Things have been calmer now since everything. Everything is the best word that he knows to conjure for the hell he laid witness to in the last month. Blood never ending in front of his eyes as he pulled another arrow from his quiver. 

An action he never had time to do himself. No, Nathaniel has learned to stand steady. 

Something that can’t be said about the man that sways before him, knees lowering to the ground to kneel. Still, he wobbles just so, and Nathaniel’s lips quirk with a smile. He knew he would find him here. 

Not at the inn, he knew that much when they talked earlier, but what Anders is currently doing. 

His hand is out, fingertips rubbing against his thumb as a soft and slurred tsk comes from him. Stray cats curl and flick their tails as he continues to talk, words nowhere close to intelligible to Nathaniel. If he had to guess, Anders is probably naming them all. 

Lady Little Whiskers, or Ser something or another that would no doubt leave him to be teased for no less than a week by the commander—and Nathaniel, too. 

“Given them all their proper names?” Nathaniel asks, stopping a few feet away and the sound of his voice causes several of the cats to dart off, “Ah, my apologies if I scared away your latest rank of loyal fighters.” 

Anders looks up at him, and it takes no more than a moment for Nathaniel to confirm what he already thought to be true: he’s drunk. 

“By the Maker, can you just leave a man alone with some cats?” Anders grumbles, tossing his hand up in the air between them, “I had so many of them. Did you see? They know that I’ll be good to them.” 

With a soft grunt, Anders tries to push himself up to his feet, but sways to fall back against the stone street flat on his ass. His head knocks against the wall just barely, but Nathaniel hisses out in discomfort like he was the one that did it. 

“You’re staying here, correct?” Nathaniel asks, eyes narrowing at the wooden sign overhead, “I could lodge us somewhere better. Truly, all you would have to say is that you’re a Grey Warden and you’d likely be set.” 

Anders presses his palms into his eyes, mumbling beneath his breath before sighing. He’s so childish when he’s drunk. Like a small boy that was told he was getting one thing but has received another. 

Regardless, he holds out a hand and shakes it in a quiver into the space between them. The message within it is clear and Nathaniel sighs. He won’t be going anywhere tonight but upstairs—and even that is uncertain. 

It’s never hard with Anders, but it’s never easy either. If you had told Nathaniel that he would be tugging an escaped mage turned Grey Warden off the ground outside a shady inn, two months ago, he would’ve called you mad. To your face, even. 

Yet, here he is doing exactly that. Maker’s name breathed silently when Anders’ legs don’t catch him at first, nearly landing them both into the stone wall. What a story this will all be when he wakes tomorrow morning. 

Will he even remember it?

“Do you have a room already?” Nathaniel asks, pulling them forwards through the door and Anders all but drags his feet, “You’re going to have to help me a little here, Anders. I am not a mage; I cannot read your mind.” 

Anders’ head turns at that, eyes squinted while he processes what was said and barks out a laugh that falls into a simmer of a snicker. He continues this, breath caught in his throat, and Nathaniel tugs him forward once again. The last thing he needs is for the locals to think that he’s possessed, or worse—plain stupid. 

“I cannot read your mind, you funny little man,” Anders tsks, shaking his head. A strand of hair falls from his ponytail and when it tickles his face, he attempts to blow it back. “It’s the one on the right just up the stairs. Don’t worry, Ser Howe, you’ll get back to your mansion soon enough, once you’re done with me.” 

Nathaniel flinches at the name. It is who he is, and it isn’t wrong, but to hear it come from Anders lips in such a way—he feels a smidge ill. A turning in his stomach as if they were again with Alistair for dinner and he has insisted on cooking. 

The low firelight of the inn is growing softer and softer still as the day bleeds into the night. He suspects no more than an hour more will they go before blowing out. This trip is taking much longer than he anticipated, and while Anders teases, Nathaniel doesn’t have a place to stay. 

“Pardon,” Nathaniel calls as they start past the bar towards the stairs, “Is the room next to his available? I’ll pay you twice the going for it, if it’s already taken.” 

Anders' head turns, slow, with a lazy grin pulling across it, “ _Ooh, you’re so wicked_. What? Going to listen to me through the walls?” 

The barkeep glances at the wall behind him, keys hanging against numbers, and with a quick hand he tosses it. It fumbles into Nathaniel’s hands as he tries to pin it against his chest. A nod of thanks is given, and onward they go. 

In total, Nathaniel estimates it took them about fifteen minutes of continuous forwards and back to make it up the stairs. Lower than his forecasted estimation but annoying all the same. 

When he jiggles the knob of Anders’ room, another laugh presses from Anders’ teeth. If Nathaniel weren’t busy keeping him off the floor, he wouldn’t have this issue, and if he had any right mind that’s exactly where he would leave the man. But he never seems to have a right mind around Anders. 

That’s the problem isn’t it?

When they get into the room, it’s as Nathaniel expected. Bare bones. Only a bed, a small table, and a candle are within the room, but to his surprise the bed is actually a bed and not a cot. That’s something to look forward to, at least. 

Perhaps his back won’t kill him when he wakes tomorrow. A moment of neutrality before he has to drag himself from bed. All to make sure the man next door didn’t choke on his own sick overnight while left alone. 

“You have a small basin in here, it seems,” Nathaniel notes, spying a sink in the corner he didn’t previously see, “Should you need to be sick, I’ll take you to it, but I will leave you there.” 

Anders sighs, tugging from Nathaniel’s hold to wobble across the space towards the bed, “I’m fine. Go rest yourself. And good to know you can take on a hoard but can’t handle a little sick.” 

The wood beneath their feet creaks with uncertainty while Nathaniel waits. He can only watch with a bitten lip as Anders finds his way onto the bed, rolling to rest against the edge. With a soft smile he blinks slow, and they both know sleep is coming fast over him. 

For the best. They both know this as well. 

“Good night, Anders. Please don’t die overnight, for no Grey Warden should go from something so… simple,” Nathaniel sighs, wetting his fingers before pinching out the candle. 

A soft grunt comes from the darkness and only the light from the hall catches across the room in a single painted streak. It bends around the curve of Anders’ jaw before it falls on his hand that is now being held outward. 

“Nathaniel,” Anders murmurs, but it’s still clear as day while ringing in Nathaniel’s ears, “must you go? Stay, just for a while.” 

“And do what?” Nathaniel retorts, much too fast and the words burn on the tip of his tongue. Heat spreads quick against his neck and chest, like he’s covered in flames—drowning surrounded by air. He can feel his lip quiver as he says, “Please, just sleep this off. You can’t mean what you say.” 

Anders groans into his pillow, muffled and whining and his hand falls back into the dark. “I do. But—good night. I will see you in the morning.” 

With that, Nathaniel steps backwards. The movement is unconscious, almost premeditated like he was being attacked and easing away from a spawn, but what is in front of him is far scarier. Even when the door shuts behind him and he’s left in the hall alone, his heart races like he just left battle. 

He couldn’t mean that so literally, could he? Not when he knows Nathaniel has a room next door. It wasn’t because he needed him that close, what help would he be to a drunk that needs to sleep things off. 

None of it makes sense, even as Nathaniel closes his own eyes. His last sight being the vast darkness of his room: plain, lonely, and slightly cold. 

How long sleep held him in her hands he isn’t aware, all he knows is when he awakes his room is still pitch with darkness. Filled with nothing but the low whine of his neighbor and for a moment he considers not moving. Just a dread filled moment where he wonders just how hard it would be to get Anders’ vomit off his smallclothes. 

It’s cast aside like his blanket and without any other thought he stumbles through his door into the hall. His head is spinning from moving too fast, but the irony of his condition isn’t lost on him when he enters Anders’ room. 

He expects to find his travelling partner knelt next to the basin, so his eyes flit there first, but they find nothing. Second instinct smarter than the first, they then travel to the bed and there he finds a body. One that is tangled with blankets, writhing for a second before huffing out in pain. 

“Anders,” Nathaniel gasps and his hands fidget with getting a match struck to light the candle. It refuses to take, once, twice, and when Anders gasps out again he throws it down. He doesn’t have time for this, not if his biggest fear has come true. 

Stumbling forward in the darkness, Nathaniel walks with a confident haste with hands spread in front of him. When he catches the edge of the bed, his knee goes up on it instantly to hoist himself up. Anders is no longer on the edge, but rather splayed in the middle and when Nathaniel’s hands find him, he’s slick with sweat. 

Rather, Nathaniel hopes to Maker it’s sweat. 

“Anders, Anders, please,” Nathaniel chokes, hands curling hard around the mage’s shoulders to shake them gently, “Wake up, get sick, just don’t be possessed, please.” 

A deeper gasp comes from Anders’ mouth before he chokes on it, coughing wildly into the air. The nails in his shoulders do not cease from Nathaniel, and until he can get closer to get a sense for it, he has to assume for the worst. 

“Nathaniel?” Anders croaks, and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. Tear stained, it finds its way to wrap around Nathaniel’s forearm and with a reassuring squeeze he confirms. “What are you doing in here? Straddling me at a forsaken hour?” 

Nathaniel wants to respond to the joke—what he hopes is a joke at least—but he knows how Anders’ defenses work. He’s not going to get out of this so fast. 

“You were gasping, Anders. Loudly writhing against your bed like a demon had taken you for its home and so here I am,” Nathaniel presses, thumbs doing the same against Anders biceps, “I don’t sense anything on you, but I’m not as good as you are with this sort of thing. Are you alright, truly?” 

Anders takes a breath in, audible and crackling in his mouth, but when he exhales no words are formed. Instead a stutter of a sob takes its place and his hands go back to his eyes once more. Nathaniel’s grip releases as he slides off of Anders, legs now folded beneath him. He’s frozen, held in limbo until Anders breathes in again. 

This one, too, turns into a sob and Nathaniel realizes that he may not get the answer he desires yet. 

“Alright?” Anders murmurs after taking a full breath, “That is quite relative.” 

“Unpossessed is a start, now I don’t have to kill you,” Nathaniel replies, and when Anders pats the empty space next to him, he complies. 

To lay against Anders’ sticky skin, small clothes absolutely drenched, it pulls at Nathaniel to bolt. Instead, rather than sink to his instincts, he shifts higher. A call that proves correct as Anders places his head against Nathaniel’s chest. 

His weight against him isn’t overbearing, not like it felt earlier when he was dragging him up the stairs. It is instead like a blanket of another devising. One that has a scruffy jaw and soft hands. 

“Your heart is so steady,” Anders whispers, ear pressed flat against him, “I don’t know why I’m so surprised, given the man it is held within.” 

A swallow forces its way down Nathaniel’s throat as he tries to keep the statement true. Held with an uncertainty he’s never felt, even when facing his own death, his hand moves to rest against Anders’ shoulder. 

It fits easily within his palm, with fingers brushing against his freckled shoulder with an ease he did not know could exist. 

“Have your nightmares not ceased from the joining? With no Blight coming, I don’t think I’ve had one since the first night,” Nathaniel says and his fingers continue to stroke away the sweat from Anders’ skin, “Are they worse for mages?” 

Anders’ arm tightens its hold around Nathaniel’s waist, hand fisting into the bed sheet on the other side. With a trembling lip, he sighs before turning to bury his face harder. Nathaniel doesn’t move, doesn’t question, he simply waits. 

He’s very good at that. 

“No,” Anders whispers, “No, I don’t know if it’s worse for mages, but these nightmares are not archdemon born. They are the same that have clung to me like haze on skin since I was little. If anything, the others are a refreshing change of pace.” 

His words sink into Nathaniel’s chest, light in their delivery but heavy in their message. Anders does not rest well—ever. Yet he acts the way he does each day, with a disposition that nearly leads to a well tied cloth over his mouth. 

“How have I never noticed when we were camping?” Nathaniel murmurs. 

Looking down to where Anders’ head rests, he still sees nothing but darkness. But it brings Nathaniel comfort to look, hopes held that he may see his eyes flash up. 

“Your tent is always placed opposite of mine. After the first night we travelled and you heard my ‘unbearable snoring’ you decided to distance yourself,” Anders explains with a soft laugh, “Maker, to snore.” 

Nathaniel hums in response, unsure of how to answer. Was it really that bad? He can’t even remember it now. 

“Try to sleep,” Nathaniel whispers, hand moving from Anders’ shoulder to cup his jaw. The prickle of stubble bites against his skin, and he brushes his thumb once against his cheek. “Snoring or no, I’ll be here.” 

Another tight squeeze of Anders’ arm around Nathaniel’s waist gives his response, and a moment later the soft sound of breathing fills the space between them. It likely benefits him to fall asleep quickly, along with the alcohol that still hangs in his blood. If he can stay like this, just for a while, then it will be worth it.

A thought that fades into a haze itself in Nathaniel’s mind, as sleep takes him as well.

When morning light presses it’s kiss against Nathaniel’s eyelids, he opens them rather unwillingly. The once closed curtains are open, letting light spill in like waves on the shore just outside. With a slow blink and a moment of realization, he finds himself alone.

If not for the placement of the bed and the feeling of sweat against his skin, Nathaniel would think last night was but a dream.

The door of the room creaks open slowly, but once his eyes find Anders’ he comes in faster. Within his hand and on his forearm rest two plates. Each with different meats and fruit, leaving a mix in the air that makes Nathaniel’s mouth water.

“How long have you been up? And why didn’t I feel you leave?” Nathaniel accuses, shifting up to sit as Anders rests against the end of the bed. He pops a grape into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and Nathaniel sighs holding out his hand. “Thank you, for the food.”

Anders grins, that same usual grin, but knowing what sits behind it now—Nathaniel may just be sick instead. 

“Only half an hour or so, don’t worry. I got sleep and apparently so did you, snoring be damned,” Anders says, tearing a piece of meat in half before shoving it in his mouth, “It was the least I could do to repay you. Even then, this doesn’t feel like enough.”

Nathaniel shakes his head, fingers pulling the peel off of a slice of orange. “Don’t start with that, I won’t hear it.” 

Anders opens his mouth to argue but resigns to simply tucking another piece of food in his mouth. They sit in silence as they eat, piece by piece until the plates are empty and Anders pulls at Nathaniel’s that sits in front of him. It’s quickly grabbed, pulled back in silent protest, and when Nathaniel’s eyes meet his, they speak something he’s never heard from him. 

Leaning forward between the gap of hands and earthenware, Anders hovers no more than an inch from Nathaniel’s face. 

“You were my confidante, which is not a simple task to bear. Thank you,” Anders whispers before closing the distance and kissing Nathaniel. It’s soft, square against his lips, and Nathaniel doesn’t move. 

Not until Anders starts to pull back does he lean forward himself, a jolt of nerves charging him to do so. Red races against his skin, but he dare not open his eyes to see the man still against him. For if he had to view the way blush kisses the bridge of his nose along with his freckles—he may have no choice but to pray. 

When they part, they do so slowly. Held close enough still to feel the others breath against their skin, warm, and unsteady. Anders smiles, the usual one that leaves his dimples to show and his eyes to crinkle, and Nathaniel feels his heart flip. 

How lucky that Anders’ ear is not pressed against him now. 

“We should bathe and head out,” Nathaniel says, and when Anders’ eyebrows lift in surprise, he hisses, “Not together, you loon. Do you think me easy?” 

Anders laughs softly, pressing a final kiss against Nathaniel’s lips before sliding off the bed. He pads back to the door, hand curling around the frame before knocking against it once. Looking back, he lets his eyes graze the length of Nathaniel’s body before he winks. 

“No, Ser Howe, you are actually rather hard.”

**Author's Note:**

> First DA fic! Probably not the last, not by a longshot. 
> 
> Twitter: @__moes__  
> Tumblr: @noswordstyle


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